The Blood of the Wicked
by ktschott7
Summary: "Destroy all that which is evil, so that which is good may flourish." The Saints are standing in the face of their most dangerous challenge yet. When loyalties are crossed, it endangers not only their mission, but their lives as well. The brothers must decide just how far they are willing to go in their war against evil. (Third in the Lockdown series)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Annnndddd we're back. I know it's a little later than I had hoped, but I think I have finally dedicated myself to writing this story. This is number three in the Lockdown series and will make much more sense if you have read those first. I will be shooting for weekly updates, but the muse has been a bit fickle lately so i'm sorry if it's longer at times. Enjoy!

 **The Blood of the Wicked**

Chapter 1

" _And Shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nominee Patris, et Filii, Spiritus Sancti."_

The following gunshots resounded off the brick walls of the dank alley with a muffled pop and the man trembling on his knees fell into a stagnant puddle with a heavy thud, joining the rest of his friends strewn about on the dirty ground.

"Son of a bitch."

Connor's quiet exclamation had Murphy looking up from the body at his feet to find his brother pressing a hand to the bleeding gash on his bicep. "Motherfucker got you good, c'mere let me see."

"It'll be fine," Connor said, brushing him off. "It's not bleeding too bad, we can take care of it when we get back."

Murphy frowned at the sight of the deep cut but nodded, knowing there was little he could do at the moment anyway. "Where the fuck did those other two come from? I thought you said it was only the three of 'em." He turned a questioning, slightly irritated look at Edwards who was standing off to the side, still breathing heavily from the fight.

"There _was."_ The younger man defended. He had been in charge of staking out the seedy little bar these gentlemen had been holed up in and alert Connor and Murphy once they left. "I followed them all the way here, they were alone. Unless…"

"Unless _you_ were followed as well," Murphy finished for him. "They must've spotted you."

Edwards looked down at the five bodies littering the floor of the alley as he thought back, trying to recall where he could have possibly made a mistake. "I don't know…" He shook his head.

"Yeah, well, that's the fucking problem, isn't it?" Connor berated harshly as he moved around the bodies, collecting their bullet casings from the ground. They took great care these days to ensure that they left no trail. "You don't know? You should always know, kid. You need to be aware of everything around you. We all depend on it. That could've ended a lot worse than it did."

Edwards felt the guilt of his failure curling through him. Lowering his gaze back to the ground, he nodded, willingly shouldering the blame that Connor had placed on him. "You're right, I'm sorry. I fucked up. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Connor said brusquely as he shoved the gathered evidence into his pockets and headed for the other end of the alley toward their car. "C'mon, we've been here too long, we need to go," he called back over his shoulder.

Murphy cast a quick glance in Edwards' direction, noticing that the kid's head was hanging lower than normal. Personally, he felt that Connor's reprimand had been a bit harsh. Edwards had more than held his own with them over the last six months and it was rare for the kid to have a slip up like tonight. He also knew that his twin had been in a less than savory mood to begin with and was probably using the situation to relieve some of his frustrations. Indeed, they were all feeling a bit testy.

This was their first big job since the complete catastrophe that was New York City. For the last six months they had followed Smecker, jumping from state to state, hunting down criminals who had slipped through the cracks of the legal system.

Up to this point, all of their hits had been relatively small targets, a few small-time drug dealers, rapists, wife-beaters, a couple of child molesters. Just to get their feet under them, find their groove and iron out the kinks in the dynamics of their group. Shortly after finally putting Kennedy Dawson to rest, Smecker had decided that they were ready to up the ante and landed them in Nashville, Tennessee. There had been reports of a new street gang trying to take over the east side of the city and Smecker had seen it as a great opportunity to test their skills as a team.

Nashville, just like every city, had its fair share of street gangs and violent crime, but this particular gang had quickly developed a fearsome reputation built on their ruthlessness. A large number of innocent civilians had lost their lives as a result of their senseless violence and the Saints were all too happy to put a stop to it. That was two weeks ago. Smecker had given them a specific timeline to take these guys out and they had now passed their deadline by three days.

The men that met their end in this alley tonight were the last on their list and Murphy was grateful for it. They were all ready to get the hell out of this city. It was too dangerous to stay in one place for very long, lest whatever bloodhound the feds had chasing after them these days catch their scent.

Murphy looked ahead at Connor who was walking at a rapid, limping pace a good ten feet in front of him before glancing back at the young man following in his wake. He could tell just by looking at him that Edwards was busy beating himself up. He could practically see the self-berating thoughts swirling behind his eyes. Unable to handle the kicked-puppy look on the kid's face, Murphy slowed his pace just enough so that he fell into step with the young man, giving him a nudge with his elbow. "Stop kicking your own ass, kid. We got the job done, and we're all alive, that's what matters."

Edwards shrugged. "He's right, that could've ended a lot worse. It's unacceptable."

"We've all made mistakes. You didn't do anything that we haven't done ourselves. You just have to learn from it and make damn sure you're more careful next time."

The young man nodded but looked ahead at Connor with an expression that Murphy recognized as holding more than a little hurt. "Don't fucking worry about him. He's not really mad at you, he's just being an ass. He's sick of this city and he's ready to move on. I think we all are."

"C'mon! Step it up, let's go!" Connor hollered back over his shoulder.

Murphy rolled his eyes at his brother but picked up his pace all the same, giving the kid an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he went.

/ / /

"Well," Smecker leaned back in his chair, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he allowed himself to relax. He had completely abandoned all hope of ever being able to kick the habit, what with the company he kept these days. "We're a few days behind schedule, and it sounds like tonight could've gone smoother," he watched Edwards deflate in on himself a bit, "but I'm willing to call this a win. You got the job done and managed to stay well under the radar while you did it." He paused, eyeing the three men who were scattered around the dingy, pay-by-the-hour hotel room, cleaning and tending their weapons.

When he looked at them he saw purpose. He saw the potential of what the world could become under the rule of the Saint's iron justice. The things they had accomplished so far were simply the beginning. The MacManus brothers had only just started fulfilling the vision that had been driving him for the last nine years, and after what he saw from the trio here in Nashville, Smecker knew they were ready for the next step.

"It's time we moved on," he continued. "We'll be leaving tonight." He looked at the window where light from the approaching dawn was beginning to filter through the thin curtains. "As soon as the sun goes down."

"Where're we headed?" Connor asked without shifting his focus from the Beretta 92FS in his hands.

"Hopefully north," Murphy mumbled, nudging his twin on the bed next to him. "This heat turns you into a miserable bastard."

"Fuck you."

"See?"

"Chicago," Smecker interrupted them, noticing the way Connor's hands faltered slightly before returning to their methodical rhythm.

"That's a big city," Connor remarked, his tone carefully indifferent.

Smecker shrugged. "We go where the bad guys are."

"Seattle has bad guys. Why can't we go to Seattle?" Murphy complained as he slammed a freshly loaded clip into his gun before setting it aside and picking up another. "It's cooler there and they have actual real rain."

"We aren't going after just any bad guy this time." Smecker let his statement linger.

Connor and Murphy both went still as they glanced up at him, their expressions a blend between curiosity and anticipation, although, Connor's eyes held a caution that his twin's seemed to lack.

Stubbing out his smoke, Smecker leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Mauricio Gael Herrera." He let the name roll off his lips, watching his audience carefully for their reactions.

Connor and Murphy's expression remained blank, but Edward's hands stilled over his disassembled weapon, his eyes snapping up to meet Smecker's.

"Are you shitting me?" he asked, his tone incredulous.

Connor shot a confused glance at Murphy who simply shrugged. "Who is he?"

Edwards huffed out a breath. "Only the leader of the most powerful drug cartel in Mexico."

"The Nogales Cartel," Smecker clarified. "One of the largest drug trafficking syndicates in the world. It's estimated that over the last twenty years, they're responsible for the import of nearly three hundred tons of cocaine, and half as much heroin to the U.S. alone. They have cells throughout Mexico and scattered across the United States in numerous major cities, specifically Los Angeles and Chicago."

Nudging Connor with his elbow, Murphy rubbed his hands together, looking like a child on Christmas morning. "Now that's what I'm fucking talking about!"

Connor didn't seem to share his twin's enthusiasm and he glared at Smecker through hard eyes. "Sounds like quite a job," was all he said.

Smecker stared right back, his gaze unwavering. "You're ready."

"You still think that after tonight?" Connor shook his head. "Murph and I may be ready, but the kid, he's got a way to go yet, I think."

"Ah Christ, Connor, would you give it a rest?" Murphy gave his twin a shove. "Stop being such a miserable ass. He made a mistake."

Connor pushed his brother back. "One mistake is all it fucking takes, Murphy. I need to know he's got his head in the fucking game."

"My head is right where it needs to be." Edwards said, his voice quiet.

Connor eyed his brother for a moment before shifting his gaze over to where Edwards sat, fiddling absent-mindedly with his weapon. The young man refused to look up and Connor suddenly felt like a piece of shit.

He knew he was acting like an asshole. It had been a long couple of weeks and the pressure to finish their work in this city had been weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was both exhausted and stressed to the max, a dangerous combination for him.

Rubbing a hand through his hair in irritation, Connor turned his attention back to Smecker who was watching him intently. "You really think this is the best course to take?"

"I do," Smecker insisted. "It won't be easy. I won't lie to you and tell you that it'll be a simple job. The Nogales Cartel is very powerful and Herrera wont be an easy man to get to, but I have faith in your skills and in your coordination as a group. I trust that you can get this done. You're ready." He glanced meaningfully at Edwards who was still staring down at the gun in his hand. "All of you."

Connor took a moment to consider Smecker's words before looking over at his twin. " _Qu'en penses-tu? (what do you think?)"_ he asked, deftly switching to French so they could consult just the two of them.

Murphy shrugged. " _Je pense que nous pouvons le faire, mais si vous voulez attendre je comprends. Assurez-vous juste que vous le faites pour la bonne raisons. (I think we can do this, but if you want to wait, I understand. Just make sure you're doing it for the right reasons.)"_ He gave his brother a pointed look.

Connor remained silent for a few more moments before finally speaking. "I need to see what you've got on this guy." he turned back pointing a finger at Smecker. "I won't sign us up for anything until I know every fucking detail. I want to know that we have all of our bases covered before we even _think_ about taking a swing at him or his organization. This is big, there'll be no room for slip-ups or stupid mistakes."

"I'm aware," Smecker said shortly, his own irritation beginning to show. "I'll gather everything I have and we can start working through it once we're on the road."

"Fine." Connor gave a curt nod before setting his weapons aside and using a rag to wipe the gun oil from his hands. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he said, rising stiffly from the bed and making his way toward the tiny hotel bathroom.

Murphy watched as Connor did a limping shuffle across their small room, and for a moment he felt a twinge of doubt. His twin had never fully recovered from the stab wound dealt to him by Dawson and it was likely that he would walk with a slight hitch in his step for the rest of his life. Muscle damage, Edwards had guessed, possible nerve damage as well if the pain Connor was still experiencing was any indication. It didn't affect or slow him down much, but it continued to serve as an ugly reminder of the hardships they had faced back in New York. Things Murphy would rather forget.

They had come a long way since then, but maybe Connor was right. Maybe they weren't ready for a job of this magnitude. This Cartel boss sounded like a pretty big fish, or rather a shark, one of the giant white ones, much bigger than Dawson, and possibly even larger than Papa Joe. They'd never faced anything like this before, maybe Connor was right to be cautious.

"You know I wouldn't have put this on the table if I didn't think you were ready for it."

Smecker's voice cut through his doubts, causing Murphy to look over at him. "Aye." He nodded, dropping his own weapon to the bed and using the same rag Connor had to clean his hands. "Connor's right, though, we need to make sure we do it right. Have you put any thought into a strategy yet?"

"I've been thinking on this for quite some time now," he said cryptically. "Like I told Connor, we'll go over everything once we're on the road." He stood from his chair and headed for the door. "You all better get some rest. I'll be back at dusk and we'll head out. Be ready."

"Aye, g' night, Smecker." Murphy waited until the man slipped out, closing the door behind him, before glancing over to Edwards. The young man had yet to look up from his weapon, which he was expertly piecing back together, and Murphy watched him for a moment, his thumbnail finding it's way to his mouth as he studied him. "What do you think about all this, kid?" he eventually asked.

"Come on, Murphy, you and I both know it doesn't matter what I think." the hurt in his voice was barely disguised by the acid in his tone.

Murphy dropped his hand from his mouth and sat up straighter. "The fuck are you talking about? 'Course it does."

Edwards slid in the last piece of his now re-assembled Desert Eagle and set it aside, finally raising his head up to meet Murphy's gaze. He looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue, but after a quiet moment of consideration, he shook his head. "Sure, ok." he consented, his voice softer. "Let's say my opinion mattered," Murphy started to interrupt but Edwards didn't let him, "I would say that this job has me nervous. This is big, Murphy. Way bigger than anything we've done so far. The Nogales Cartel is huge. This won't just be one job. If we do this, we won't be fighting just one battle, we'll be charging into war."

Murphy regarded him quietly for a moment, the young man's words only reinforcing his own private doubts. "You think we shouldn't do it?"

Edwards sighed and ducked his head again, busying himself with repacking his duffle bag. "I think we're going to do whatever you and Connor decide. I'm with you regardless."

Murphy shook his head. "I know you are, but your opinion matters, kid. I'm not sure where you got the fucking idea in your head that it doesn't. Not only does it matter, but I respect it, I've come to rely on it."

"That makes one of you," The young man muttered as he slid freshly loaded clips into his bag.

"Christ, if this is about what Connor said tonight, I told you not to worry about it. He doesn't mean it. I can guarantee he's already beaten himself up over it. Just give him some time to decompress, he'll come around."

"Sure," Edwards responded, his tone clipped.

Murphy narrowed his eyes at the uncharacteristic attitude, but the bathroom door opened, breaking through the moment.

Connor could feel the tension as soon as he stepped out of the steam and he cocked an eyebrow at his brother. Murphy gave him a meaningful look before inclining his head toward Edwards who was ignoring them both as he worked on packing up his gear. Connor ruefully nodded his head, knowing what his brother was trying to say.

"I claim next shower," Murphy called, grabbing a clean set of clothes before heading for the bathroom, giving Connor a pat on the shoulder as he passed by.

Connor waited until he heard the water kick on before moving toward the bed, his fingers snagging the clean t-shirt he had sitting out. Pulling it over his shaggy, still dripping hair, he covered the array of old scars decorating his chest and abdomen before sinking down onto the bed. Edwards was still keeping himself busy and Connor palmed the cigarettes that were sitting on the comforter next to him. Pulling one out, he lit it up and leaned back lazily against the headboard, waiting for the young man to quit playing this avoidance game.

"You're not going to make this fucking easy on me, are you, kid?" he finally asked, breathing out the last drag of his cigarette as he twisted it in the ashtray on the nightstand.

"Not sure what you mean," Edwards mumbled, not looking up from where he was shoving clothes into a backpack.

Connor watched him for a second longer before huffing softly and shaking his head. "You're a shit liar, Josh."

At that, Edwards went still but he kept his head down, eyes focused on the bag in his hand.

Connor sighed, swinging his legs over the bed as he gained his feet. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" he said, crossing the small space and picking a black sweatshirt up off the floor that he knew belonged to the young man. He took the backpack out of Edwards' hands, stuffing the sweatshirt inside before dropping the bag onto the couch. "I know I'm a bastard, but you have to understand my concern. A mistake like tonight could've ended everything. I need to know that you've got it together up here." He tapped his temple. "I need to know that you're focused."

"I told you, I'm good," Edwards said quietly. "I don't know what happened tonight. I've gone over it again and again in my head and I can't figure out where those other two came from. It doesn't make sense and I have no explanation or excuses. But I'm here and I'm as focused as I've ever been. If you can't trust that, then trust the hundreds of other times I've had your back over the last eight months."

Connor could detect the hurt in the young man's voice and he felt another pang of remorse. He knew he could be a hard ass. He didn't mean it most of the time, it was just how his mind handled the stress. Unfortunately, stress had been nipping at his heels for the last two weeks, and his fuse had burned down to nothing.

"I do trust you, kid," he said tiredly. "We all make mistakes, just promise me you'll be more careful next time, aye? If we go through with this job that Smecker has planned, we'll need to be at our best."

Edwards nodded, and Connor patted him on the shoulder as he walked back over to the bed, collapsing stomach first onto the sagging mattress. He had almost drifted off to sleep when Edwards' voice gently pulled him back.

"Connor?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are we really considering doing this job?"

Connor sighed but stayed where he was. "We'll hear Smecker out and go from there. Get some sleep now, kid. We're back on the road tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

_So much for weekly updates, eh? This chapter was_ _difficult because I couldn't move any further without having a real solid plan for everything. This story is going to have a lot of moving parts and is taking quite a bit of figuring on my part, but I think i'm getting there! Thanks to those who have read Lockdown and Beyond Redemption and are joining me again for another crazy ride. I'm already plotting my cliffhangers and boy do I have plans.;)_

Chapter 2

Charlie Weston groaned as he rolled over in bed, his hand flailing across his nightstand in an attempt to silence his alarm. It took a few moments of fumbling before he realized that it was his phone that was ringing and he pulled it off the charger, groaning when he checked the caller ID. He knew what this was.

"Damn it, Garcia, do you have any idea what time it is?" He switched on a lamp as he pushed himself up, leaning back against the headboard.

" _It's five AM, boss, you should be awake by now anyway."_

"It's my day off."

" _Yeah, well, not anymore. There were more killings in Nashville last night."_

"Garcia…" Weston sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He didn't need this right now.

" _This is the fourth group of gang members in the last two weeks!"_ Garcia pressed on, not allowing his friend the chance to shut him down. _"You can't tell me that's a fucking coincidence, Weston! I'm fucking telling you, it's them. I know it."_

"Even if it is them, it's not our problem. We're off the case."

Garcia cursed. _"Not if we can find out where they are."_

"You're not even cleared to be in the field," Weston continued to try and reason with the younger man. "The doctors say it's going to be _at least_ another six months of physical therapy before you're ready."

" _Oh, those doctors don't know shit!"_ Garcia spat, his temper rising quickly. _"They can take their physical therapy and shove it up their ass. I just got back from a eight-mile run, they can't tell me I'm not fit for fucking field duty."_

Weston sighed again. He didn't want to do this right now. They had already been through this more times than he cared to count. In all honesty, six months was an optimistic guess. Truth was, it could be six months, or a year, or maybe never. The doctors still weren't sure if his brain would ever fully recover from the trauma it had sustained on that fucking night back in New York.

It had been seven months, and while Garcia may be able to run eight miles without stopping, they both knew that his fine motor skills were still lagging behind, his accuracy at the shooting range being the most noticeable and concerning side effect. It was possible his friend could be stuck behind a desk for the rest of what was once a bright and promising career. That thought brought the guilt that was never far behind crashing back down upon his shoulders. Not only had he put Garcia in the position that got him hurt, but also he failed to capture the men responsible.

" _Anyway, it doesn't matter,"_ Garcia took a loud breath. _"I'm not calling to talk about my bullshit doctors. This is about the fact that five known gang members were found dead_ _in an alley just a few hours ago."_

"And there are a dozen theories on why that could be. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean it's them."

" _Come on, Weston, you're not even going to take a look at what I've got here? What happened to Charlie Weston the Great Fugitive Hunter? Huh? You're just going to let them take this case from you without a fight?"_

Garcia was goading him, he knew it, and it was working. "What do you want me to do, Garcia? It's not my fucking case anymore. I had my chance and I failed."

" _No,"_ Garcia growled. _"_ I _failed. It was me, not you. We fucking had them! We could've used Murphy to flush out his brother, but I let him get away from me. I cost us this. Me, not you. When they took you off this case, it only ensured that the MacManus brothers would never be found. You need to fight this, Weston, show them that you're the only man for the job. Then you need to finish it."_

"I don't know how to do that," he said dejectedly.

 _"Well, you can start by getting your lazy ass out of bed and coming in to take a look at what I've found."_

Weston allowed his head to fall back with a thud. As much as he hated being stripped off the MacManus brothers' case, he was surprised to find that it had brought him an unexpected sense of relief. He had spent a solid three months of his life burying himself in the hunt, working tirelessly day and night. Never had he slept so little while working a case, and by the end, his nerves had been so fried he was practically willing to _give_ the case away.

Despite what Garcia said, Weston could only ever blame himself. He could've raised hell and convinced the Chief to let him keep hunting, but he didn't. He just rolled over without a fight and let them take it from him. He gave up. Never in his life had he ever given up. Ever. _'A man can only fail if he bows to defeat'._ Well his father must be rolling in his grave right now, that's for sure.

He wasn't sure he had it in him to try again. He didn't know if he could take himself back there, but he knew he at least owed it to his friend to hear him out. It was certainly the least he could do.

Exhaling loudly, Weston finally relented. "Fine, I'll come take a look."

" _You will?"_ Garcia couldn't hide his surprise, hints of excitement tingeing his tone.

"I don't seem to have much of a choice. You're obviously not going to give me any peace until I do, and I'm tired of these five AM phone calls," he teased dryly, only half-joking.

" _How soon can you get here?"_ Garcia pressed, blowing off his friends teasing.

"You at the office?"

" _Give me an hour and I will be."_

"I'll meet you there.

" _Roger that."_

Weston was pulling the phone away from his ear to end the call when he heard Garcia say his name again.

"Yeah?" He brought the phone back up.

" _Thank you."_

"Don't thank me yet," he mumbled. "I only said I'd take a look."

" _Yeah, we'll see about that."_ There was a smile in his voice.

"See you soon, Garcia."

" _You got it, boss."_

 _/ / /_

 _The darkness was surrounding him, smothering him, and he could feel his heart rate pick up as his hands started to shake. He didn't want to be back here again. He hated this place. He knew that all of his deepest, darkest fears were lurking in the blackness beyond, but there was nowhere to run. He could only stand, trembling in the darkness as he waited for his ghosts to find him._

 _Then Connor felt something. It was just a small flicker of familiarity brushing the back of his subconscious mind, but it held a comfort that never followed him to this void. He felt it again, stronger this time, and spun around, not really sure what he was expecting to see. A scream caught in his throat and he took a startled step back as he turned to find himself face to face with Murphy._

 _Connor started to back away in fear when the concerned look on his brother's face stopped him. The Murphy that haunted him here was always dead, blood dripping from a bullet hole as he chanted accusations into Connor's ear. The Murphy standing before him now was his brother. No blood, no death, no hate, just Murphy._

 _Neither brother spoke as Murphy slowly stepped forward, glancing around at the blackness with confused eyes. When he turned back to Connor, his face held an understanding. He knew what this place was._

 _Footsteps off to Connor's left caused him to jump and he turned, searching the darkness. He felt Murphy step up beside him and grab his hand, just like he did when they were kids, and the act instantly soothed him. Whatever was out there, he wasn't alone this time._

 _The steps grew louder as they echoed around them, making it sound as if they were coming from every direction. Slowly, a lone silhouette began to emerge and Connor squinted, attempting to make out the person moving toward him. As they drew closer, he felt his heart lurch at the same time that Murphy's hand tightened painfully in his._

" _Edwards?" Connor whispered in horror, his voice echoing oddly in his own ears._

 _There was so much blood. A river of it was flowing freely from a gaping hole in the young man's abdomen and Connor knew if he didn't stop it soon, the kid would die. Still gripping his brother's hand, he tried to rush forward only to find his feet stuck tight._

" _Josh!" he called again desperation leaking into his voice._

 _Edwards was looking down, watching as his blood spilled out into his hands before trickling onto the floor. When Connor called his name again, he finally looked up, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to speak only to have more blood pour out, dripping down his chin to mingle with the rest._

" _I think this is a bad idea, Connor," the young man said, making no attempt to stop the life that was literally draining away from him._

 _The gore that was quickly pooling on the floor began flowing toward him until it was lapping at the rubber soles of his boots. The sickening metallic scent filling the air churned his stomach and Connor tried to move again to no avail. He could feel Murphy continuing to struggle next to him and he picked back up his own futile attempts as they tried frantically to save their friend._

" _This is a bad idea," Edwards said again before a loud rushing sound filled Connor's ears and everything went black._

 _/ / /_

Connor and Murphy both startled awake at the same time, their breathing ragged, hands still clenching one another's. It took a moment for the scratchy sheets beneath them and the stale smoke smell around them to bring them back to their shitty hotel room, and a moment longer to comprehend that someone was standing over them, speaking to them.

"Sorry," Edwards whispered as he slowly removed his hand from Connor's shoulder where he had been gently shaking him awake. "Smecker's here. It's time to go." He spared them both a concerned glance, hesitating for a moment before stepping away to start taking their things out.

His chest still rising and falling rapidly, Connor watched as the kid moved around the hotel room, alive and uninjured. He waited until Edwards walked out the door before finally disentangling his fingers from his brother's and running a shaky hand through his sweat soaked hair. Glancing over at Murphy, he could tell his twin was shaken.

"You all right?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Murphy met his gaze and gave a half nod, half shrug. They held each other's eyes for several long moments, each asking the same silent question. _What the fuck was that?_

The sound of Edwards coming back in for a second load of bags snapped them to attention. Breathing out a sigh, Murphy threw the covers aside and stood from the bed, offering a hand down to his brother. Connor accepted the help and allowed himself to be pulled up stiffly.

It took only a matter of minutes to get their things loaded and after a quick sweep of the room to ensure they left nothing behind, they piled into the mini van that was currently serving as their transportation. They could still see the last rays of the sun on the horizon as Smecker guided them away from the city.

They drove the first hour in silence, an unidentifiable tension lingering over them. Murphy, who was sharing the back row of seats with Connor, sat staring out the heavily tinted windows as he worried his thumbnail anxiously between his teeth. Whatever feelings of excitement he'd had at the prospect of this new job had completely abandoned him, leaving him with nothing but an unsettled soul. His heart thumped out a warning with every breath, and every mile they covered made him more on edge.

Then there was the dream. He may have woken up, leaving the phantom world behind, but the dream hadn't left him and he found his gaze drifting up to the young man sitting in the middle bench seat every so often, reassuring himself that the kid was still with them. Watching Edwards' life flow away right in front of his eyes had scared him more than he was prepared for and he realized just how far he would go to make sure that never happened in real life. The young man had grown on him over the last eight months since the Hoag. He'd always liked the kid, but it was more now. He wasn't just a friend who had sacrificed for them; he was their family. They were brothers in arms, and the thought of losing him brought on an incurable ache in his heart.

For the first time, Murphy felt like he maybe understood what Connor was going through back in New York. Especially if those were the types of nightmares that had been haunting his twin in the night. It made it easier to comprehend the lengths that his brother had gone to trying to keep them all safe and he hated that Connor had gone through that alone. He couldn't help but feel that maybe there was more he could've done. Maybe he should've been more understanding or tried harder to help him. But in the end Murphy knew what was done was done and there was no use thinking on what-ifs. The important thing now was the future. But it was the future that now had him nervous.

Looking over, he could see that Connor was also deep in thought. He could practically feel the indecision radiating off his brother in waves. Sliding a hand inside his pocket, Murphy removed his pack of smokes and pulled out two. Lighting both simultaneously, he cracked his back window before handing one off to Connor who took it distractedly.

Silence continued to blanket the occupants of the van and once Murphy finished his smoke, he nudged his twin with his knee, motioning toward Smecker with a dip of his head.

Knowing what he was asking, Connor nodded in agreement.

"So, Smecker, what exactly is the plan here?" Murphy asked, finally breaking through the quiet.

Smecker glanced at him in the rearview mirror before returning his eyes to the road. "Under Connor's seat you'll find everything you need to know."

Edwards turned around curiously as Connor reached down, fishing under his seat and pulling out a stack of files at least six inches thick. Murphy raised an eyebrow at the encyclopedia sitting in his brother's lap before digging into the bag at his feet and pulling out a small flashlight. Clicking the end, he directed the beam of light to the first file.

"Christ," Connor breathed. "Where do we fucking start?"

"Marcos Alvarez," Smecker suggested over his shoulder. "Should be the folder on top."

Reading the name on the tab, Connor flipped it open to the first page. Lying on top was a photo of a rough looking man, mid-forties maybe, and he was climbing into the back of a black escalade, seemingly unaware of the photographer's presence. Several more pictures of the same style lay beyond that one, each one taken from a distance, freezing what appeared to be just a random moment in time.

"Care to give us the abridged version?" Connor asked as he shuffled through the first few pages of information.

"Chicago is one of the largest trafficking areas for the Nogales Cartel," Smecker explained, keeping his eyes on the road. "Alvarez is the head of distribution for that entire area. He oversees all of the receiving and dispersal of incoming product, coordinating with the local gangs and dealers."

"I thought you said we were going after this Herrera fella?" Murphy questioned as he scanned the pages with his flashlight.

"Herrera is an outlaw," Smecker continued. "He's a wanted man in more country's than just the United States. I told you he wouldn't be an easy person to get to. He spends most of his times cozied up in his fortress south of the boarder. We've got a lot of grunt work to do before we get a shot at Herrera. We'll have to poke the bear a little bit, make him angry enough to come out from behind his walls."

"We tried a similar tactic with Dawson and that didn't work out so well, as you may remember," Connor said darkly.

"Similar tactics, yes. But you won't be making the same mistakes that were made back in New York." Smecker tore his eyes from the road long enough to catch Connor's gaze in the rearview mirror. "You'll be working together as a team this time, just as you have been for the last seven months. No pennies, no Saints, just the ghosts of justice. If we do this right, Herrera wont know what hit him."

Connor went silent as he considered Smecker's words.

"And you think that taking out Alvarez will be enough to draw the big guy in?" Murphy asked.

"No." Smecker shook his head. "It's going to take more than that. But Alvarez is our starting point. Messing with their supply and distribution will be enough to catch Herrera's attention. From there we interrupt their cash flow. As head of distribution, it's part of Alvarez's job to take the money being brought in and funnel it to the financial guy. You'll find a folder on him in there as well. Jordan Maxwell is his name, and while he doesn't hold an actual position in the cartel, he plays a very important role. He takes the money from the product and filters it into a business where it's washed and deposited into any number of bank accounts around the world."

Connor located the file on Jordan Maxwell and set it on top. As he opened it, a set of pictures spilled out and he caught them, holding them up to Murphy's light for a closer look.

"Jesus, he's just a fucking kid," Murphy said, looking over at his brother. The person in the photo looked as if he had just strolled off of a college campus in his trendy jeans and button down shirt. Not exactly what he had expected of a man who laundered money for the Mexican Mafia. He couldn't have been much older than Edwards.

"Don't let his age fool you," Smecker warned. "He earned his bachelors degree in accounting from MIT, graduating with honors. After two years of working for one of the largest accounting firms in the US, he grew bored and decided his talents were being wasted filing taxes for rich assholes. Unsatisfied, he turned to the dark side and began his work for the cartel."  
Connor studied the photograph of the young man and couldn't help but notice it was taken in the same surveillance style as Alvarez's were and it made him wonder.

"If the FBI has all this information on these guys why don't they just make an arrest?" he asked curiously.

Smecker met his eyes in the mirror again, holding them for a beat before returning his gaze to the nearly deserted stretch of highway sprawling out in front of them. "They don't have all of this information," he stated plainly. "Cooper and Tucker have provided me with everything the Feds have on this particular branch of Nogales operations, but they don't have enough to make anything stick in court. Lucky for us, the FBI isn't my only resource."

"Aye?" Connor cocked his head to the side. "And who exactly is this other resource?"

Smecker arched an eyebrow, his eyes amused. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Connor shook his head. It was odd to think about how little he actually knew of the role that Smecker played in all of this. He had always just assumed that most of the man's information came from the two agents that helped them back in Boston, but thinking back on all of all the times that the former agent had managed to scrounge up anything and everything they'd needed, from medical supplies, to a vehicle, to a safe place to stay, it was obvious that he had more sources than that. Connor supposed that, in order to fake your own death while always having a fresh identity ready at hand, you would have to have some pretty good underground connections.

"So after we hit Alvarez you want us to take out this kid?" Murphy interrupted his thoughts, bringing them back on track.

"That's the idea."

The brothers shared a look. "Is that really necessary?" Connor questioned, glancing at the picture again. The oblivious young man in the photo looked like just any other kid, walking down the street with a cell phone in his ear. He may have made some bad fucking choices, but was he really deserving of death?

Smecker sighed. "I know he's young but his hands aren't clean. He's been cleaning drug money for Herrera for three years. Just washing away the blood and tears of the victims who were either wasted by the drugs themselves or taken by the street violence brought on by the gangs selling that vile shit. He is just as much a part of this as any other cartel member and taking him out is essential to our plan. Losing a major supply of money will hopefully be the red flag that sends the bull charging."

"And if it isn't?" Murphy asked.

Smecker was quiet for a moment before continuing. "Herrera has three lieutenants that he trusts to oversee his business in the United States, one for the east coast, one on the west coast, and one in the mid-west. Once we take out Alvarez and Maxwell, one of two things will happen. Herrera will either be pissed off enough to come and check things out himself, or he will send in his lieutenant to deal with the problem. If it's the latter, we'll simply be ready for him. Lieutenant positions are reserved for blood relatives alone. If we pick off his lieutenant, we won't be just messing with his business, we'll be taking out his family. After that, there is no doubt in my mind that Herrera will come, even if he has to dig a tunnel himself."

Smecker fell silent, giving them a moment to absorb it all. "That's the long and short of it, gentleman," he finally said. "I firmly believe with everything that I have, that you boys are ready for this. In the last year alone, 12,500 people between the United States and Mexico have lost their lives to cartel violence. Not only are you ready for this, but it's a turning point in your mission. This is they type of thing that will truly make a difference in the world."

He eyed them in the mirror again. "We land in Chicago in six hours. Take this time to go through those files. You'll find one in there for Herrera as well as his mid-west lieutenant. I'll need an answer as soon as possible. I would rather not take us all the way into the city unless we're planning on staying."

Connor looked down at the paper in his hands. Now that he had all the details sitting in his lap, a working plan in place, he felt like this whole thing could be feasible. Smecker was right, this could be a turning point for them. And yet, he couldn't shake the warning bells that were going off in the back of his mind. Images from his most recent dream floated, unbidden, to the surface and he did his best to shut them down. He refused to allow his fear to control him anymore.

He glanced over at Murphy, who was chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. Nudging his brother with his elbow he cocked his head in question. _What do you think?_

Murphy stared down at the open files in his twin's lap for a minute before a nod of his head was accompanied by a small, one-shoulder shrug. _I think we may actually be able to do this._

Connor nodded and looked up at Edwards who was turned to the side, draping an elbow over the back of his seat, watching them as if he were following their silent conversation. "What do you think, kid?" he questioned, his voice soft. The young man had been strangely quiet up to this point and Connor observed him curiously.

"Is this what you both feel is right?" Edwards asked, watching the brothers with an open stare.

Connor and Murphy glanced at each other before turning back and nodding. "Aye," they both said in unison. "But we still want to know what you think?" Murphy continued. "Does this feel right to you?"

Edwards dropped his eyes to the seat fabric beneath his hands, picking at imaginary lint. After a moment he raised his head back up, meeting their gaze again. "I'm with you."

"That's not what we asked." Connor shook his head.

"That's my answer," Edwards insisted firmly.

Connor's gaze turned hard for a moment as he considered him, searching the young man's eyes for any hesitation. Finding nothing but the typical steely resolve he had come to associate with Edwards, Connor nodded in acceptance.

"Very well, then," he relented, looking up to find Smecker watching them carefully in the rearview mirror. "We're in."


End file.
